"It's an eyesore!"
"It's going to cast our neighborhood into shadow!"
"It's a playground for rich people!"
"It's going to make the subways more crowded!"
Dude, do you even go here?
I fucking LOVE the stupid giant spindly rich-people apartment buildings they keep putting up at the south end of Central Park. Love love love them. They make me feel like I'm living in a sci-fi movie about New York City in the 21st century. They're great.
I mean, just look at this silliness. A NYC Representative protesting the construction of a 300-foot building on the Upper East Side.
The whole lab-leak controversy strikes me, more than anything else, as a reflection of the corrosive effects of Trumpism.
When Trump and his cronies said something—anything—that was at odds with what was broadly understood to be true, to treat it as presumptively false was treated as not just wise, but necessary. And that was the right approach, broadly!
Tom Cotton was happy to insinuate that Covid was a Chinese bioweapon, and we've all spent five years learning that to respond to such bullshit with a textured, nuanced, ambiguous rebuttal is to saunter into a trap.
Some folks (just a few, and no journalists, but still) have asked how I see the ethics of sharing those DMs from Chris Cuomo that I tweeted yesterday. A couple thoughts on that.
I've always believed that emails and DMs should generally be treated as presumptively private, ethically. But that's a heuristic, not a rule, and there are exceptions.
In this case, the DMs were (1) unsolicited, (2) menacing, and (3) from a powerful, prominent public figure. They contained no personal or private information, and I neither violated confidences nor took advantage of a power disparity by posting the screenshots.
And I'm not even sure that DOESN'T make sense! Risk mitigation has been a really important strategy for me this last year and change—understanding that you'll have to do some risky things, and want to do others, but that if you do fewer of them, your risk is lower.
A big lesson for me over the last year has been that "is this constellation of activities safe for me medically" and "is this constellation of activities sustainable for me psychologically" are deeply entwined questions.
This is something that safer sex advocates have known for decades, of course—that the choices we make about how to keep safe have to be informed by our deeper wants and needs, or they're not going to stick.
Going over my 2020 online purchases in order to do my taxes, and wow. To see a chronological record of the whole year laid out that is quite a thing.
(April 8, for instance, I bought Anbesol and clove oil. Because that was the day I noticed one of my fillings had fallen out, and realized I had no idea when I'd be able to see a dentist again.)
And that's a perfect example of what I was talking about in the other thread. It took me two or three months to get that tooth fixed, but it wasn't until my first post-vax dentist appointment a month ago that I stopped obsessing about the state of my teeth on a daily basis.
In literally the next tweet Silver notes the gap between what epidemiologists are doing and what they consider medically safe, but he can't quite put the pieces together. (Hint: Whether something is medically safe isn't the only influence on behavior in Year Two of a pandemic.)
I consider it pretty much safe to take the subway at this point. If anyone asked my opinion, I'd tell them it was fine to take the subway. I haven't yet taken the subway. There's no contradiction there, just me being a human being, muddling through.
And again, in spite of Nate Silver's framing above, that's not me being "risk averse." It's not a matter of risk. I spent a few hours hanging out with (a small group of) (fully vaccinated) friends in a (not-crowded) bar the other day.